Kiss and Tell(24)

Her escape was close, only two more steps. She hurled herself forward, heat and smoke at her back. She could already smell freedom—air wispy and clean—when she heard it.

A scream.

She froze, one foot in the hallway, one still in the apartment.

The scream came again, faint but unmistakably female. She spun in a circle, hoping it was coming from downstairs, from out in the street—anywhere but here.

But all hope was squelched as she heard the scream once more. It was coming from behind her. It was inside the apartment.

Every inch of Emerson’s body screamed for her to leave. But someone was in there. Someone who wasn’t Matt. There wasn’t time to call the firehouse; there wasn’t time to call anyone. The flames were in the living room now, taking the couch and the walls, skittering across the floor. The air was patchy, swirling clouds of black and gray.

It was instinct that drove her inside, instinct that silenced the warnings. She raced across the living room just seconds before the rug went up in flames.

“Help!” The shout was accompanied by banging this time. It was coming from the bedroom. Emerson pressed her sleeve over her mouth, trying to block out the smoke as she fought her way toward the sound. Still, tendrils seeped in, and she was hacking by the time she reached the door. The handle was hot to the touch, so she used her other sleeve to twist it open. Inside the bedroom, the smoke was thinner. She dove inside, sucking down big swallows of air.

The banging grew louder. Emerson looked around frantically, searching for its source.

Her eyes landed on the closet door. She sprinted toward it. The door had been locked from the outside and she quickly unlocked it, yanking it open.

Out fell a rumpled Tenley. Her eyes were wide and disoriented, and a streak of dried blood ran down the side of her face. She careened forward, landing on her knees.

“What are you doing here?” Emerson cried, helping her to her feet.

“I—I don’t know!” Tenley leaned heavily against Emerson. “I came to stake out Matt’s apartment, but then I got a text and then—I don’t know. I woke up in the closet.”

A plume of smoke rushed up Emerson’s nostrils, punctuating Tenley’s words. The room was rapidly filling with smoke, thick black waves of it. In the living room, flames popped and crackled, inching closer to the bedroom door.

“We have to get out of here,” Emerson coughed. She shoved her sleeve against her mouth as she narrowly avoided a loose flame. “If we stay away from the rug, we can—”

A loud boom drowned out the rest of her sentence. The fire had reached Matt’s grandfather clock, and as flames had clawed their way up the wood, the whole structure had tipped forward, landing in front of the bedroom door.

“No!” Emerson cried. They were blocked in, inside a box of fire and smoke. “The window!” She rushed toward it, Tenley at her side. On the other side of the window, something caught her eye. “Oh my god, Tenley,” she whispered. “Look.”

The house across the street had a shed in its backyard. At street level, the house blocked the shed from sight, but two stories up, they had a perfect view of it. The shed was tan and windowless—and it had a bright purple door.

“No. Way,” Tenley breathed.

Emerson went to open the window. But before she could reach it, a massive flame tore across the ceiling, sending the overhead light crashing down. She jumped backward with a scream. Heat seared at her skin. She could taste the smoke in her throat, burning its way through her chest and down to her lungs.

Smoke swirled around her. Another crash thundered nearby, but all Emerson could see was color: gray laced with orange and specks of hot, flashing blue. It was almost beautiful, like the sky during a storm.

“We have to get out of here!” Tenley’s voice seemed to reach her from far away. “Em! Come on!” Clammy fingers grabbed at Emerson’s wrist. They yanked hard, wrenching Emerson out of her fog.

“Window,” she croaked. Each syllable burned at her throat. The smoke was so thick she could barely see her own hands, but she could feel Tenley at her side as they pushed their way forward. Through the cloud of gray. Over the sparking lamp.

“Watch out!” Tenley shoved Emerson hard. She stumbled forward with a cry. A flame ripped through where she’d stood only a second before.

“Thanks,” she gasped. She was struggling to breathe now, but through the wall of smoke she saw it again: the window. She grabbed Tenley’s hand and dove for it. The bottom of the window was hot, so she shoved her sleeve under it. Tenley did the same. Together, they hoisted it up.

Cool, fresh air poured into the room. Emerson gulped it down, letting it fill up her lungs. It cleared her head and sharpened her vision. “We’re going to have to climb.”

“How?” Tenley whispered.

Emerson looked down. There was no fire escape, just a two-story drop to the grass.

Behind them, Matt’s bed caught fire, sending a fresh plume of smoke rushing into the air.

Emerson’s eyes flew to a tree near the window. It wasn’t very far away, but the closest branch looked thin and flimsy. If it held, the tree would be the perfect escape route. If it didn’t… Emerson scrambled onto the windowsill. They didn’t have a choice.

Carefully, she scooted onto the edge. She could feel the heat pressing in on her back. Soon, the flames would reach the window. She stretched out her arms and launched herself forward.

“Emerson!” Tenley’s scream faded behind her.

For a second there was only air. Her arms grasped at emptiness as she catapulted through the sky. Then her hands slammed into the branch. The bark tore at her skin and the branch wobbled dangerously, but it held.

“Now you!” she shouted to Tenley. She was trembling all over as she clung to the tree, lowering herself to the next branch to make room for Tenley.

Tenley climbed onto the windowsill. Behind her, the fire crept forward, flames skimming her back. Sirens sounded in the distance. They drew closer, but not close enough. “Are you sure—”

“Now!” Emerson screamed.

Tenley threw herself forward. For a second she, too, was free-falling. It made her look so small, like a doll tossed on the wind.…

She latched onto the branch. It wobbled and creaked, but Tenley was light, and it held her weight. “Got it,” she choked out.

They climbed quickly to the ground and broke into a run. They’d just made it to the street when a boom sounded from behind. Emerson spun around, her heart in her throat.

Matt’s entire house was engulfed in flames.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN


Sunday, 2:48 PM


Sydney’s phone had disappeared. It wasn’t in her backpack or her purse or, as far as she could tell, anywhere in the apartment. She thought back to when she’d used it last. It was when she’d texted her mom from the party. Had she lost it at Calum’s house?

She used the landline to try Calum’s number. Voice mail. She left a quick message, asking if he’d found her ancient clunker of a phone. “Have you seen my phone, Mom?” she hollered, resuming her search of the apartment.

“No, have you tried calling it?” her mom shouted back from her bedroom. She had the whole day off work, which meant Operation Ten Loads of Laundry was already in effect.

“It’s dead,” Sydney replied. “And, considering its ancient, anemic battery, probably has been for ten—”

The apartment buzzer cut off the end of her sentence. Her mom emerged from her bedroom holding an armful of clean towels. “Are you expecting anyone?” she asked, peeking over the pile.

Sydney shook her head. “No one.”

“Maybe it’s your dad. Speaking of phones, he hasn’t answered his all morning. Can you grab it?”

Sydney moved toward the intercom. Her mom’s words echoed in her head. He hasn’t answered his all morning. She stopped short in front of the intercom’s video screen, dread pooling in her stomach.

It meant nothing. Absence did not make him guilty.

And neither did the mementos Tenley and Emerson had found in his so-called trophy box.

She jabbed at the intercom. The video screen flickered to life. Two uniformed cops stood outside her building. A stout, broad-faced woman and a pale, bald man.

The dread solidified into a tomb.

“Is this the home of Sydney Morgan?” the female cop barked. All Sydney could manage was a nod.

“Who is it?” Her mom came up behind her, halting at the sight of the cops.

“We were hoping to talk to you about a local fire,” the female cop continued. She flashed a badge at the screen. “May we come in?”

Sydney’s mom buzzed them in wordlessly. “What’s going on?” she whispered as the cops disappeared from view. She dropped the towels onto the kitchen table, her face pale.

Sydney could only shrug. Her voice was lost in her throat. This had darer written all over it. A knock sounded on the door.

The cops were named Funley and Herman. Officer Funley, the woman, was clearly in charge. “There was a fire at 566 Seaview Avenue,” she began.

Sydney went slack.

“Is Matt—?” her mom squeaked.

“The resident wasn’t home at the time,” Officer Herman jumped in, shooting Funley an irritated look. His thick mustache looked incongruous next to his bald head. “He’s fine, ma’am,” he added in a softer voice.